ndeed she will be in a position to defy fate,--and
Marcia. Already she has learned to regard that dark-browed lady with
distrust.

"Is any one coming to-morrow?" asks Mr. Amherst, _a propos_ of
Molly's reverie."

"Tedcastle, and Maud Darley."

"Her husband?"

"I suppose so. Though she did not mention him when writing."

"Poor Darley!" with a sneer: "she never does mention him. Any one
else?"

"Not to-morrow."

"I wonder if Luttrell will be much altered," says Philip; "browned, I
suppose, by India, although his stay there was of the shortest."

"He is not at all bronzed," breaks in Molly, quietly.

"You know him?" Marcia asks, in a rather surprised tone, turning toward
her.

"Oh, yes, very well," coloring a little. "That is, he was staying with
us for a short time at Brooklyn."

"Staying with you?" her grandfather repeats, curiously. It is evidently
a matter of wonder with them, her friendship with Tedcastle.

"Yes, he and John, my brother, are old friends. They were at school
together, although John is much older, and he says----"

Mr. Amherst coughs, which means he is displeased, and turns his head
away. Marcia gives an order to one of the servants in a very distinct
tone. Philip smiles at Molly, and Molly, unconscious of offense, is
about to return to the charge, and give a lengthened account of her
tabooed brother, when luckily she is prevented by a voice from behind
her chair, which says:

"Champagne, or Moselle?"

"Champagne," replies Molly, and forgets her brother for the moment.

"I thought all women were prejudiced in favor of Moselle," says Philip,
addressing her hastily, more from a view to hinder a recurrence to the
forbidden topic than from any overweening curiosity to learn her taste
in wines. "Are not you?"

"I am hardly in a position to judge," frankly, "as I have never tasted
Moselle, and champagne only once. Have I shocked you? Is that a very
lowering admission?"

Mr. Amherst coughs again. The corners of Marcia's mouth take a
disgusted droop. Philip laughs out loud.

"On the contrary, it is a very refreshing one," he says, in an
interested and deeply amused tone, "more especially in these degenerate
days when most young ladies can tell one to a turn the precise age,
price, and retailer of one's wines. May I ask when was this memorable
'once'?"

"At the races at Loaminster. Were you ever there? I persuaded my
brother to take me there the spring before last, and he went."

"W